Firelight
by hawkflyer667
Summary: Merlin comes to Arthur's rooms drenched and cold from the rain, and Arthur does his best to get him warm and dry again. [Merthur. Fluff. No smut.]


**Random mindless fluff.**

* * *

"Arthur, please...,"

"No, Merlin."

"But come on, something has to be said for the fact that I am the /Prince's/ manservant. I have to have some sort of special privilege. And besides, all you have to do is say you need me to do something else. You do have something else for me to do, don't you?"

"No."

"Not even clean your armor? Please?" Merlin's face fell, turning away from the window to stare at his Prince, begging softly. "Come on, Arthur. Please. I'll make you soup, I'll draw your bath, I'll..."

"What you'll do is go outside and help clean off the jousting field with all of the other servants in Camelot," Arthur demanded firmly, finally glancing up from his ledger and staring at his dejected manservant standing in the middle of the room. "I'm sorry, Merlin. I wish this wasn't the case but Father had ordered it. I can't go against him. You have to go help."

"It's /thundering/," he whined. As if on cue, a clap of thunder and more ferocious rain smacked against the window. "I'll get wet!"

"And here I thought you didn't understand what rain was," Arthur mocked. "It's just a bit of mud and water. You'll be fine. Honestly, stop complaining. My Father isn't evil. The reason he ordered all the servants to work is to organize shifts. You'll only be out there for a little while. Now get."

Merlin shuffled his feet and opened his mouth to argue again but was silenced by a fierce glare.

"Fine...," he murmured, face falling. He turned and left, Arthur's eyes following him until he shut the door.

He stood in front of the door four hours later, drenched to the bone, covered in mud, and shivering pitifully. All he wanted to do was curl up in bed and die. He sniffled pathetically and rapped at the door, growing increasingly aware of the puddle of water forming under his feet.

"Come in!" Arthur's voice sounded relieved. Maybe that meant he could count on a few minutes by the fire?

He pushed through the door and stood, hands behind his back, head down, the very picture of the perfect servant if it wasn't for rain dripping off his hair and mud caking his clothes. "I'm here to see if you n-ne-need anything, s-ssire," he whispered through chattering teeth. "B-before I g-go to b-bed."

"Jesus Christ, Merlin!" Arthur gasped, eyes widening. He was out of his chair in a moment, leaving his books on the desk to get a better look at his miserable servant. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Y-your... c-cleaning of the f-field, m-my l-l-lord." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment- if he tried to talk again, he'd probably bite off his tongue.

"You can't mean to tell me you were working that entire time?" Arthur asked incredulously, eyes filling with rage. "That's ridiculous. I thought... you were supposed to be..."

"W-whole t-t-time," he stammered, licking blood off of cracked lips. He steadily drifted closer to the fire. "A-Arthur?"

"Damn," Arthur swore, rubbing his hand across his face in anger. "You weren't supposed to be- yes?"

"C-can I s-stay? H-here? By the f-fire?"

Arthur's eyes widened. "You don't have one in your chambers, do you? Uh, yeah, of course. Here." He dragged Merlin over closer to the fire. "Sit. Stay."

Merlin did as he was told, too exhausted to argue. His entire body was shaking. Arthur stalked over to the door, throwing it open and glaring at one of the guards out front. "Have any servant not in awful shape get me some towels and warm soup. Fast." The man nodded, eyes wide at the anger in his Prince's voice, trotting off.

He came back inside, closing the door firmly, and moved close to Merlin. He bent down to stare at his loyal man- friend. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't realize you'd be out there for so long, I wouldn't have asked you too..."

"Not y-your f-fa-fault," Merlin shivered, smiling softly. He held out his hands towards the fire and Arthur felt anger flash at the fact that the tips of his fingers were tinged blue with cold. He stood up, glancing over at the door. When the servant didn't magically arrive, he dug around in his wardrobe.

"Here," he finally said, pulling out one of his sleep-shirts and a pair of old trousers. "Get out of those wet things; they're going to make you even sicker." He helped Merlin to his feet and without ceremony, started dragging Merlin's shirt over his head.

Merlin let out a disgruntled squeak but Arthur ignored it. "This isn't the time for modesty, Merlin, and besides. I'm not looking."

Together they managed to get Merlin completely out of all his wet clothes. Before helping him into the new ones, however, Arthur had Merlin wrap up in a blanket pulled out of his closet. For modesty (Merlin didn't seem comfortable parading around naked), and for warmth until the towels came to help dry him off.

A knock came on the door when Arthur was finishing wrapping a final blanket around Merlin's neck- the boy very nearly was engulfed by the sheer weight on him. But it was obvious he was exhausted, there wasn't even a snide comment about worry when Arthur was wrapping him, just blank eyes staring into the fire and weak efforts to shiver.

Moving over to open the door, Arthur could have punched someone. Whose bloody idea was it to keep Merlin out in the wet mud during a thunderstorm in the cold for /four hours/?! He could understand one, perhaps two. He even advocated for it. The field needed to be cleared, whatever the weather. Whatever left out when the storm got worse would be destroyed and have to be replaced, and Camelot couldn't afford the setback. But did the overseers have no heart? Keeping someone doing that hard work for so long had the ability to be fatal.

The word fatal seemed to set heavily in Arthur's stomach but he brushed it off. No. It wouldn't be fatal. Not for Merlin, at least. He wouldn't let it. He wouldn't let his servant die for his mistake. He wouldn't let his /friend/ die for his mistake.

He pulled the door open and grabbed the towels from the frightened (still half-soaked) servant at the door. His stomach flipped but he didn't have the time or the space to care for every servant in the castle, so he nodded curtly in thanks. "Go to your bed," he muttered. "You look awful."

The little servant blinked and smiled softly. "Thank you, my lord," he whispered, turning and bowing quickly before racing down the hallway.

He turned back to look at Merlin, still huddled in a ball and staring into the flames. He trotted over and bent down, meeting his eyes. Slowly he unwrapped Merlin from the blankets, gritting his teeth at the tinge of blue still in his lips and fingers.

Once Merlin was aware of what Arthur was doing he grabbed at the towels. He, with Athur's assistance, started scrubbing him down head to toe. Fifteen minutes or so later, the boy was pink from all the furious scrubbing of the towels. He glanced over and cracked a small smile as Arthur helped drag the shirt over his head and tied the drawstring tight around his stomach to keep the trousers from falling off.

Sitting there side by side by the fire, they honestly couldn't look more different but more together. Merlin, pale but with a touch of pink in his cheekbones, dressed in oversized clothes that just pronounced his skinny body, with Arthur next to him, filled out, toned, with a touch of a lingering tan. But when Merlin shivered Arthur moved closer to him, dragging Merlin into a hug to share body heat. He laid his chin on Merlin's head, both of them staring into the flames.

"I'm sorry," Arthur murmured. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I promise you that."

Merlin yawned sleepily, exhaustion from the cold setting in. "I know. You're taking care of me."

Arthur inwardly cheered that he was no longer shivering so hard he could barely speak. Gently, he leaned down and allowed his lips to brush Merlin's forehead.

The servant's eyes glanced up, confused. "'thur?"

"Just sleep, Merlin."

Merlin turned to look at him, adjusting his body so he was literally lying on Arthur's lap. His eyes flickered softly in the firelight, reclined with his back against Arthur's stomach. Arthur dragged a chair over, leaning back gently against it. He carded his hands through Merlin's raven hair.

Merlin let out a small, satisfied sound, snuffing softly. Arthur snuggled close, closing his eyes and pulling Merlin close.

Morning would find the two arm in arm and hand in hand, snuggled on the floor, pressed together.


End file.
